


Leave your House and Home Unhaunted

by Willdoodleforcoffee



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Moving On, Talking to Ghosts, but only kind of, very very brief cursing but not enough that I wanted to up the rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willdoodleforcoffee/pseuds/Willdoodleforcoffee
Summary: In which Barclay is still mourning.
Relationships: Barclay/Edmund "Ned" Chicane, Barclay/Thacker (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Leave your House and Home Unhaunted

**Author's Note:**

> I should be doing a million other things but here I am! Yeah!
> 
> This takes place before Mama gets back from Sylvain so do with that what you will
> 
> Title is from the song Ghosting by Mother Mother

“Ned, stop stealing dough or I’m banning you from the kitchen”

“You wouldn’t!”

_“Try me, Chicane.” ___

____

____

Ned laughs, a loud and full-bellied endeavor. He then doubles over into a coughing fit when Barclay flicks flour directly into his face.

“That’s-ack!-That’s foul play!”

“You are the _last _person who gets to complain about that.” Barclay rolls his eyes, hoping that not looking at him was enough to hide the edges of his lips just barely quirking into a smile. “You’ll get sick if you eat that much anyway.”__

____

____

Ned, by contrast, was grinning ear to ear, leaning casually against a prep table. “No need to worry about that, I’m stronger than I look.”

“Is that so?”

“Barclay, my dear friend, my name isn’t Ned ‘Constitution’ Chicane for nothing!”

“Really. I thought that was just something else you stole.”

“You wound me!” Ned lays a hand over his forehead dramatically and Barclay shakes his head with a snort. He refuses to let himself be endeared by this, though that was becoming a losing battle. 

Reprieve came in the form of an oven timer, prompting them both to glance at the clock. Ned quickly pushes himself from the table, muttering “shit shit shit!” not so quietly under his breath.

“You were supposed to pick up Duck, weren’t you?”

“Maybe!” Ned huffs, swiping another pinch of cookie dough before backing out of Barclay’s reach. He stops briefly at the door, his expression uncharacteristically cautious. “I’ll see you later?”

Barclay allows himself a smile and waves him off with a sigh, “I’ll be here.”

The Sylph waits until Ned’s footsteps fade to hide his face, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes, “Fuck, what am I doing?”

“Sounds like you’re flirtin’ with him.”

Barclay drags his hands down, pulling at his bottom eyelids, and glares at the figure swinging his legs from his perch on the prep table.

“I was not.”

“You were so!”

“Dammit Thacker! I wasn’t! I’m fine! I don’t like him and I’m fine!”

“Sure, sure. Talking to your dead husband sounds _completely _fine”__

____

____

Barclay huffs, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his jaw. He never saw Thacker the way he last did, tired and worn and pleading. This Thacker was young, the devious spark his eye brighter and soft grey only beginning to streak his temples. It was how Thacker always existed in his mind, before age and abominations really started to take their toll. 

Barclay attempts to snap back, but it comes out more pained than intended, “You aren’t dead.”

The not-Thacker smiles gently, the type one offers as kindness despite deep sadness, and holds out both hands palm up, “You don’t know that.”

Without thinking, Barclay steps forward and rests just his fingers in the figment’s open palms. It was an old ritual between the two, Thacker would squeeze his fingers once and Barclay would squeeze back before their hands would actually close together. His hands felt solid, and warmer than Barclay remembered, and for a moment he let himself believe this was _his _Thacker.__

__Not-Thacker didn’t close his hands though, running a thumb over Barclay’s knuckles and speaking softly._ _

__“‘Clay, you were always going to outlive me. You know that.”_ _

__The Sylph, eyes transfixed on hands that should be holding each other, nods with a slow numbness that came with the admission of something you desperately didn’t want to be true._ _

__“You told me not to wait for you.” Barclay mutters, dragging his eyes up when not-Thacker laughs quietly._ _

__“And why do you think I did that, blockhead?” Not-Thacker’s shit-eating grin turns warm when Barclay bumps one of his knees with his hip, accompanied by a mumbled _“Hey, watch it.” _____

____“There was a time before us, and there will be a long time after. I need to know you’ll be able to find joy when I’m not there.” Not-Thacker squeezes Barclay’s fingers and holds them there, waiting for a response. Barclay’s features pinch together, as if that’d keep the tears pricking at his eyes from escaping._ _ _ _

____“I miss you, Arlo.”_ _ _ _

____“I know, I’m sorry.”_ _ __

____Barclay squeezes his hands and his eyes together, and for the briefest moment the kitchen smelled like the woods, like wet earth and barely bloomed honeysuckle and pine needles crushed beneath your feet._ _ _ _

____Like him._ _ _ _

____Barclay takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, slowly, to find himself alone._ _ _ _


End file.
